


The Letters You Wrote Me

by Miriella



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alcohol, Ambition, Animals, Depression, Drunken sex, F/F, Family Drama, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Holst is a jerk, Hurt/Comfort, Letters, Post-Canon, Risky Behavior, Self-Discovery, Self-Hatred, Sibling Rivalry, Slow Burn, Verbal Abuse, depressed Hilda
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2020-12-24 09:33:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21097265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miriella/pseuds/Miriella
Summary: Sick of her overbearing and demanding big brother, Hilda begins to seek comfort in the letters Marianne writes to her.Unfortunately for her, a big heavy cloud of self-doubt is starting to grow over her head, and, little does she know, Marianne's life is in jeopardy.





	1. A Blue Rose in a Bundle of Reds

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is heavily based on Marianne and Hilda's ending in Golden Deer, with extra angst and content added in. Expect spoilers for the GD route, Marianne's prologue, and any backstory of the two main characters.
> 
> Quick warning, this story deals with depression, self-hatred, verbal abuse, family issues, and sexual themes. Please don't keep reading if any of this story triggers you.
> 
> With that being said, please enjoy!

By Imperial Year 1187, it had been eight years since Hilda Valentine Goneril’s older brother, formerly titled General Holst, became the Duke of the Goneril territory, and only a little over a year since the recent great war had ended in a victory for the Alliance, in which Claude successfully unified all of Fódlan. Hilda was certainly not one for hard work, but the war had been exactly that. There were so many diplomatic relationships, secret plots, and battleplans hashed at their former base of Garreg Mach Monastery, all of which Hilda had no interest in and graciously allowed Claude and Byleth to take care of. Avoidance and laziness were Hilda’s forte, something she had no fear of admitting to everyone, barring a few stern acquaintances and her older brother. Holst and Hilda were opposites in nearly every regard. He was a leader; she was a follower. He was hard-working and determined; she allowed life to work itself out for her. The only thing they had in common was their pink hair and eyes, which Hilda always personally found funny. Such a proud and strong Duke he was, and he was cursed with a baby-like appearance. Regardless, the siblings were quite different, indeed, and with those differences came harsh opposition from the little sister and many lectures from the older brother.

Such lectures and persecution grated on Hilda. She loved her brother, of course, but sometimes she wished she could escape him, leave her titles, and go do what _she _wanted. The question she had often asked herself was: what _did_ she want? A year ago at Garreg Mach, Hilda had managed to befriend the stern Seteth, former advisor to Lady Rhea. It was an unusual friendship, for it had begun with him lecturing her in a manner not unlike her brother would to her. Eventually, through many trials and tribulations, Hilda started to help Seteth with the children’s fables he would write, creating illustrations that reminded her of the many times she would leave a candle lit in her room, melting pitifully, a complete mess in its wake. He, however, disagreed. “Your work is very helpful, Hilda. It will bring smiles to the children’s faces as they read.” After receiving such praise for her drawings for so long, she began to believe him, priding herself in the art. Seteth and Hilda’s relationship as partners ended with the war, and they hadn’t seen each other since. He still regularly sent her his drafts, receiving her suggestions for changes in return. As much as she enjoyed illustrating, she felt it wasn’t quite her calling, though perhaps it was the closest she’d ever gotten to feeling pride in something she did.

One morning during Harpstring Moon, the air was unusually chilly. It was toward the end of spring, flowers had already bloomed, trees housed all sorts of birds, and the faint buzzing of cicadas could be heard in the distance. Hilda would normally sleep in late on such a morning, but she was woken with a few knocks on the door, disturbing her ‘precious slumber’. Marching over to her door in a huff, she told the faceless guest as much, receiving a dark groan from them. Ugh. _Her brother_.

She swung the door open with much more force than necessary and he pushed his way past her to sit on her desk to the left. “Good morning, Hilda.” He smiled at her with such intent, such malice, arrogance, and condescension, that it threw her off guard, shakily closing the door behind her. Their fights had been getting progressively worse, but even this was out of character for him. What would his soldiers, who viewed him as the perfect charismatic leader, think of him now?

“Hi, Holst,” she responded warily, approaching him but keeping a distance. It was as though she was caught in one of those terrible Almyran sandstorms Claude told her about, wielding an axe and stuggling to strike any enemy that came into view.

“Shirking your duties again, I see. I presume you’ll have some excuse to give me. What is it this time? Are you sick? Did you twist your ankle?”

“Um—”

“Oh, let me guess,” he said as he got off the desk and closed their distance. “You just didn’t want to do it.”

“No, it’s not like that!” She protested. “I honestly just forgot.”

“I’ve been telling you every day for the past month that a diplomat from Gloucester territory was coming to negotiate trade of a new precious mineral they found in Kupala.” He chided, crossing his arms.

“I thought Kupala was Edmund territory,” she mumbled.

“You really haven’t been listening to me at all this last month, have you? Margrave Edmund recently split the land with Count Gloucester in exchange for a thousand heads of cattle.” He rolled his eyes. “All of the former Alliance territory is engaging in trade with each other except for House Goneril. That’s why I set up this meeting with that diplomat, which you failed to attend.” He pointed his finger at her angrily, approaching closer and closer until there was little space between them.

“If you wanted to trade with them, you should have attended the meeting yourself.” She defended. “I’m not interested in that sort of stuff.”

Lord Holst clenched his teeth, hissing in aggravation and taking a few steps back to take a deep breath. He covered his face with his hand and sighed in defeat. “Right, I forgot I can’t trust you with anything. Now I need to write a letter of apology to the Count.”

That _stung_, but Hilda didn’t have any way to respond to that. She turned away from him. “Go away,” she muttered with a flick of her wrist. He did, closing the door behind him a bit harder than intended.

Hilda hated him. She hated House Goneril. She hated her duties. Most of all, she hated the look of disappointment on her brother’s face, but she knew it was better that she didn’t attend the meeting. If she had engaged with that diplomat and failed to arrange something satisfactory, she would have disappointed Holst even more. It was better to not try to begin with than to try and fail. This way, she couldn’t make any mistakes; she just wouldn’t be able to bear it.

She scowled at no one and sat at her desk. It was wooden, but painted white, and it was her favorite part of the whole room, as long as she could forget that her brother was sitting on it just moments before. The cushion on the seat was sleek and pink, matching her hair. The color or fabric may not have been practical, but she was more into cuteness than practicality. Fashion over comfort. Hilda opened the center drawer of her desk to reveal a vast expanse of crafting supplies: four different types of scissors, fabric dye of thirteen colors, a few needles, and a countless variety of threads, beads, tassels, and clips, all sorted into little wooden trays she had bought at a market. Pulling out her needed supplies from that drawer, she bent down to open the bottom right drawer, which contained only a seventh of the fabric material she owned, the rest of it dispersed throughout her room in strategic hiding places. She’d scarcely admit it to anyone, but she _loved_ making accessories, like jewelry and hats, necklaces and earrings. Holst would never approve, probably expecting her desk to be filled with blank papers, quills, documents, or whatever one was supposed to keep in their desk. She had that stuff shoved in her dresser, only touched when she returned manuscripts to Seteth.

Whenever her big brother stressed her out or she just needed to feel better, she’d get to work at her desk. This time was no different, as Hilda worked to create a bracelet with bronze beads and little shells from Brigid. She planned to finish it with a white tassel, imagining it would be the perfect gift for Raphael’s little sister. They hadn’t spoken since the war ended, but she knew that the little girl would appreciate it. Hilda had once helped Raphael prepare a birthday present for her, several years ago. The girl was older now, but Hilda knew that bracelets were a timeless gift for a lady, especially a simple and cute yet elegant one like she was preparing.

She worked dutifully for hours, time passing without her realization. She imagined that her brother thought she just slept all day, being holed up in her room like this. Some days she did just this, and others she went out to socialize with the manor staff or even venture out to the nearby market to pick up more crafting supplies. She used to have such a large bubble of friends, but after the war, she unfortunately found herself locked up in the mansion most days.

The sun was beginning to set when Hilda finally finished her work, ultimately decided to make a matching necklace with the bracelet. She wanted to make sure it was perfect, and it was, Hilda was sure of it, for the last hour was spent double-checking the jewelry. She really was a perfectionist when she actually tried, but what good was crafting accessories worth? Absolutely nothing, the pink-haired girl decided.

There were one, two, three knocks on the door, and Hilda stretched in her chair, releasing a satisfied groan as her shoulder blades popped. “I’m sorry to disturb you, my lady,” –it was a maid-- “but I have a letter for you.” Another one of Seteth’s manuscripts? _This should be fun_. Hilda got up, her bottom sore from sitting for so long, and headed for the door, cracking it open a few inches to accept the script, except it _wasn’t_ a script. It was a letter, in a small periwinkle envelope. She thanked the maid quickly and closed the door behind her, a childlike excitement visible in her persona.

_Who could it be? _She quickly flipped the letter over in her hands to reveal the front, elegant writing across it.

_For Hilda Valentine Goneril_

There was a small drawing of a horse in the corner, not well done but definitely cute. Hilda giggled. Could it really be her?

Tearing the envelope open hastily, she read the signature at the bottom.

_Best wishes,_

_Marianne von Edmund_

It really was her! Hilda squealed in happiness and bounced up and down on her creaking wood floor, leaping onto the bed with the letter held up in the air in order to not damage it.

Marianne was Hilda’s best friend during their academy days, getting along in an unusual ‘opposites attract’-type relationship. Hilda initially tried to use Marianne to make her do her assignments and chores for her, assuming the quiet and soft-spoken girl would be a natural at organizing and cleaning. However, Hilda was sorely proven wrong on the first attempt, finding Marianne in the library with books strewn all over the place almost two hours after Hilda had foisted the assignment of organizing them on her. She had no choice but to clean the mess up herself, which was far worse than it was before, listening to Marianne mutter “I’m sorry” the whole time. She felt bad for the girl, and soon found that _she_ was the one helping Marianne do her work, cleaning up the stables and cooking meals. The tables had turned in the most unexpected way for the normally lazy girl, and while it was an inconvenience for her, she somehow didn’t mind too much either. Marianne would thank her profusely each time and started being there to help any time Hilda was assigned chores. The girls began to eat together at lunch, sit together in class—they were in the same one but had never spoken to each other once--, and meet up afterwards to have tea in one of their rooms. It was lovely having Marianne as a friend, despite what the poor girl believed herself, and soon Hilda regarded her as her best friend, a title exclusive to her.

Five years passed and the girls were too busy to see or even write to each other, the war causing chaos throughout Fódlan. When the class met on the day that was supposed to be for the millennium festival, the two were reunited and easily resumed their friendship without issue, continuing it through the forming of Claude and Byleth’s unit of fighters, comprised of knights of the Church of Seiros and former classmates. At the end of the war, Marianne and Hilda returned to their respective territories, promising to write to each other. Over a year went by and no letters were sent, partly because Marianne was busy, Hilda imagined, and she was too stubborn to write the first one.

No longer did she have to worry. She finally had a letter from the blue-haired girl and read it at the speed of a Pegasus during battle.

_Dear Hilda,_

_I want to apologize for taking so long to write to you._

Of course, the girl had to start the letter with an apology.

_I hope you’re doing well. How has everything been for you this last year?_

_My adoptive father has finally loosened his reigns on me a little bit. He allowed me to start up an infirmary in our territory for injured and sick animals._

_It has been everything that I’ve ever dreamt it could be. Ferdinand was the one who gave me the idea. I’m so grateful to him._

_I’ve been taking good care of Dorte. She’s getting old and has been needing more attention lately. You and she are both my best friends._

_Back to you, again, I do hope you’re doing all right. I haven’t heard much about the Goneril territory, and I know that we both don’t like politics, so I won’t talk about that._

_Tell me what’s been happening lately. I would love to listen. Hopefully we can arrange to meet again soon._

_Best Wishes,_

_Marianne von Edmund_

Marianne really was the sweetest girl and deserved so much more than the shackles her adoptive father had kept on her for so long. It was so wonderful to read that she was now free. Hilda was emotional, tears prickling from her eyes. She wiped them on her sleeve and saw a smudge of makeup in its wake. _Oops._

Once she had collected herself, she rushed to her dresser to grab her ink, quill, and a fresh parchment, and glided over to her desk to write a response.

_Marianne,_

_It makes me so happy that you’re doing well, and your father has given you more freedom. It actually brought tears to my eyes, believe it or not!_

_I can’t believe Ferdinand gave you the idea to start up an infirmary! That’s pretty funny. I thought all he talked about was nobility, but I guess not. It’s amazing that you have found your passion. As for me, well… I’m pretty much clueless._

_It’s good that Dorte is getting lots of love. I know you care for her a lot. Give the old girl a carrot for me._

_I…could be better. My brother has been getting on me about responsibilities lately. You know how much I hate them. We’ve been fighting a bit, but I’m sure it will blow over soon._

_You’d better write back!_

_Love you lots,_

_your best friend Hilda_

Hilda sealed the short letter in a pink envelope and placed it on her desk for the time being. She would give it to the mail courier in the morning.

Thinking about what she had written to Marianne, Hilda shifted uncomfortably in her chair. She’d definitely been having more of an issue with her brother than she let on, but she was honest when she said that she thought it would end soon, right? Either way it was best to remain positive, and think about how productive the day had been, though as soon as Hilda tried to tell herself that, negative thoughts started clouding her head again.

_You didn’t do anything today._

_Raphael’s sister won’t like the gift._

_Marianne won’t respond to your letter._

“Stop! None of that is true!” Hilda countered out loud, and the saddest thing was that she found it hard to believe.

She curled up in her bed with a vortex of self-doubt and hatred and her brother’s voice pounding in her head.

It took a long time for it to quiet down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, that was so heart-breaking to write.  
I'm undecided how many chapters this will have. Most likely under five.  
Thanks for reading! Feel free to comment, give kudos, or whatever your Hilda-loving hearts desire.


	2. Alone in a Garden of Grey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hilda decides to go out because she's lonely. It doesn't go well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Warning:** this chapter earns its M rating, with worse verbal abuse and language, and some sexual themes. _

_Three Weeks Later_

It was now the beginning of summer, Hilda’s least favorite season of the year. The heat always got to her, causing her discomfort almost as bad as manual labor did. She hated the insects and their incessant buzzing in her ears when she took walks in the manor gardens, which she only did so on occasion, to find pretty flowers to pick and put in her room. She was choosing to stay indoors even more now, insisting to her staff that she would wait out the heat and go out again once it got cooler. Hilda wasn’t sure if she was telling the truth; all she knew was that she would rather sit in her room and make accessories than do much of anything else, for it was one of the few things that was making her happy.

Her relationship with her brother had gone from bad to nothing. They hadn’t spoken since a week ago when they had their worst fight yet. It pained Hilda to remember it, but she couldn’t help from doing so.

_He’d banged on the door to her room several times, more intense and violent than ever before. She remembered feeling her heart drop to her stomach and her veins tense as she sheepishly made her way to open the door and attempt a greeting. He was having none of it._

_“Damn it, Hilda,” he bellowed, “I’ve had it with you!”_

_She was afraid of him but a certain part of her was begging to challenge him. She gave in with a clear eyeroll, teeming with disdain. “What did I do this time?”_

_He shut the door behind him, breath rapid like a rabid dog._

_“The head maid told me that you haven’t left your room in a few days,” he scoffed. “Why are you doing this to me? As my little sister, you have certain duties and appearances to keep up. You really don’t care about them, do you? Do you care about anyone but yourself?”_

_She averted her gaze. “I thought we’d already had this conversation.”_

_“Just answer me.”_

_“No, I don’t care.”_

_The answer enraged him even more, twisting his face into something frighteningly ugly. He had to take several breaths to calm down and look sane before he spoke again. _

_“Fucking hell, Hilda. I’m having a talk with Father about this. I’m going to ask him what I need to do to strip you of your name and disown you.” With that, he left the room, slamming the door behind him. _

Ah, Father. He was still alive but had been infirm and bedbound for ten years, therefore relinquishing the title of Duke of Goneril to Holst. It had been months since Hilda spoke to him. One would think she was a negligent and bad daughter, but she avoided him for a reason. Growing up, they had a terrible relationship. He was always yelling and angry with her, causing her to lose any trust she had with him, clinging to her brother because there was no one else to seek comfort with. Comfort her, he did, and they had become the best of friends. Holst was always there for her to protect her; she was always present to encourage him. Once Father had gotten ill, her brother changed. The words Father put in his mouth could only be described as poison: _‘You’re better than her, you’ve always been better than her’. ‘She relies on you too much’. ‘She’s irresponsible and lazy. You need to send her away somewhere she can learn the meaning of hard work._’ Holst listened to everything he said intently, the pride of his new title getting to him. He shipped Hilda off to the Officers’ Academy that year, Imperial Year 1179. It’s a shame she didn’t change the way they wanted.

_Something felt ready to explode in her throat then: a bubble of emotion that was so horrifically pitiful that Hilda fought to keep it detained, pacing around her room on shaking legs for a minute before collapsing next to her desk and punching the floor with her fist as she let out a silent scream. Tears, real, hard tears poured from her eyes like a Brigid waterfall on a dewy morning. So many thoughts raced through her mind at breakneck speed before it went blank. It was as though she had entered an empty room, void of colors or smells. She pulled her knees up to her chest and buried her face in them for what felt like hours._

_Someone must have heard her breakdown because a letter was soon pushed under her door. They must have decided that was the better option than to knock and wait for her to answer it. Hilda sighed and crawled on all fours toward the envelope and backed herself against the door, eyeing the front of it._

_‘Hilda’ was simply written on the cover._

_She opened it gingerly, her hands shaking._

_Hey, Hilda! My little sister got the bracelet and necklace this morning! She loved it. Thanks for always thinking of her._

_-Raphael Kirsten_

_She couldn’t help but smile. Raphael was always such a nice guy, perhaps not good with words, but his sincerity was forever on display. The note was short and simple with writing akin to a messy meal—one that Raphael would probably enjoy._

_Present Day_

It had been a week since all that misery, and while softened by Raphael’s letter, she still felt a sort of unease. Hilda was starting to wonder if Marianne would ever write her back. She was sat at her desk, again, and worked on a new pair of earrings, all-black hoops with an onyx stud at the top. Hopefully, she could wear them out later that day when she went into town. Perhaps it wasn’t proper for a noble to stuff themselves with alcohol at a tavern, especially a lady like herself, but she didn’t particularly care. She missed and craved people; she loved socializing and chatting up everyone she could at the monastery. She missed having friends. Perhaps she could find a poor sap, crying over his wife cheating on him, to chat with. There was a small stone of fear in her gut; she worried that she wouldn’t be able to find anyone to speak with, which was certainly a pitiful fear to have, considering just how lively commoner taverns were in the evenings.

Hilda spent the rest of the day lolling about her room, organizing fabrics and doing other boring activities she didn’t wish to remember. She had kept her curtains open that day, watching the sun from her window as it slowly made its way down, disappearing into the landscape. She watched the colors of the sky go from blue and white to a stunning amber and pink, and that was when she knew it was time to head out.

Stepping out of her room with her new earrings worn and favorite bag in hand, Hilda braced herself to travel through the manor. She had chosen to skip dinner just and hour before, claiming she wasn’t feeling well, when she really just wanted to wait to eat a meal at the tavern. As she walked along the maze of dimly lit halls, she passed a few maids and butlers that had given her looks of surprise but didn’t say anything. It wasn’t surprising that they were shocked. Lately, Hilda had only been leaving her room for short walks in the afternoon and to eat meals in the dining hall, in which she had to be sat across from Holst, awkward tension present in the air and the both refusing to speak.

She was able to exit the manor without fuss, and for that she was grateful. It was only a few-minute walk to the nearby town, and Hilda took it briskly, enjoying the wind that gave some relief to the present heat. Goneril territory had some of the most beautiful flowers, and she couldn’t help but stop to admire some of the pretty white angelicas she passed. They reminded her of Marianne, with their color symbolizing purity and faith. She remembered how often Marianne would insist on going to pray to the goddess, something she only did when it was expected of her. Marianne truly was the epitome of divinity, almost like a saint herself. Hilda chuckled, blushing at her own stupidity.

The town was livelier than ever, commoners laughing and dancing on the streets. There wasn’t any event that day, as far as Hilda could remember, but their jolliness certainly didn’t slow. The markets and stalls had closed and everyone was either socializing on the streets, making their way to one of the taverns, or, in the case of a few, simply choosing to retire home for the evening. The sky was a blanket of purple, darkening by the minute.

Hilda loved the chaos. She missed it. She _craved_ it.

She was about to do something foolish, she could feel it in her veins, because they were pumping with an adrenaline she hadn’t felt since being with all her friends at Garreg Mach. She was nearly ready to burst.

Marching into a random tavern with a bizarre air about her, Hilda paid no mind to the strange looks she got from the patrons. It probably wasn’t common to see a noble walk into a place that smelled like this, especially not one dressed as eccentrically as she. She sat herself at the bar, laughing and already feeling drunk despite not having a single drop yet. The man who sat next to her eyed her curiously.

”Erm, what will you be having tonight, milady?” The bartender asked nervously.

“Oh, please. None of that “my lady” tonight. I’m just a regular customer. I’ll have your priciest ale,” she smiled

“A regular customer wouldn’t order the priciest ale, lass,” he chuckled. She glared in response. “I’ll, uh, see what I can do.” With that, he went into the back room, leaving Hilda to take in her surroundings.

The place was dimly lit and smelled like cheap booze. Hilda wouldn’t have expected anything less. People crowded around, some seated, some standing, others sneaking glances at her. She loved the attention, brushing one of her pigtails off her shoulder and winking at a man who was nearly drooling at her.

She’d always considered herself to be attractive, dousing herself in perfume, caking on the makeup, and accessorizing in a way that was surely eye-catching. It allowed her to make the men around her (sometimes women, too) do whatever she wanted. She wasn’t a bitch; she didn’t ruin their lives or anything. She’d just ask them to do simple things for her like return a book at the library, get her a snack, or even do a school assignment for her. Simple, indeed.

Most of the time, she didn’t feel bad about taking advantage of others’ enthrallment with her. The only exception was Marianne, who she could tell had a horrible pain she was dealing with. The girl was closed off but eventually opened up to Hilda about the shame she felt for having the Crest of the Beast. She tried to help the poor girl realize that her crest didn’t really mean anything, but it wasn’t until they killed Maurice, the original crest bearer, as a demonic beast that Marianne was finally able to come to terms with it.

“Damn it,” she cursed. Her mind was constantly going back to the blue-haired girl--she really missed her. It was just going to have to be something she would need to get over, especially if the girl never sent her another letter.

She was taken out of her haze by an elbow nudge from the man sitting beside her. How daring of him to touch her. She spun around in her backless seat, prepared to give him a piece of her mind, when the bartender slid a mug toward her.

“Oh, thanks,” she murmured in embarrassment. The man was only trying to tell her that her drink was ready. She turned to him and gave him an apologetic nod.

_ _ _

An hour or two went by in a doozy, and before Hilda had realized it, she was finishing her fifth drink and slurring, dancing with random bar patrons in the process. It was nice to let off some steam like this. It had been so long since she’d last drank, probably back when there was a poor excuse for a feast at Garreg Mach, and it did wonders to help her relax. Relaxed, she truly was, and the impulse to bed a random man—something she also hadn’t done in forever—surged in her body guiltlessly.

She spotted a perfect target: He was young, cute, and drunk too--he’d be easy to seduce.

“Hey, there,” she giggled as she approached him, nearly tripping over herself.

“Hi,” he greeted nervously.

“Aww, are you nervous?” She asked playfully. “That’s so cute! There’s no reason to be,” she patted him on the back assuredly. She was talented at perking up even the shyest men.

They chatted for several minutes, Hilda throwing in flirts all the while. Impatiently, she grabbed his arm. “How about we go somewhere else? I really—" She dragged one finger down his chest, leaning into his ear. “—want you.”

He had his lips on her in about two seconds, their faces smashing together awkwardly. She kissed him back, desperate for some affection. If she couldn’t get it from her father, her brother, or Marianne, she had to resort to this. The thought left a sour taste in her mouth.

Their makeout session was short, as he pulled her out of the establishment and into to his house down the cobbled street.

_‘Why are you doing this?_’, she asked herself. She desperately tried to shut her mind off. After several minutes of searing hands touching body parts, exposing herself to him more and more, it worked.

_ _ _

Hilda had woken in the morning before the man. Tossing her clothes back on in a flurry, she ran out of the house and down the street, weaving through pedestrians and ignoring a street vendor who attempted to give her a sample of their food.

_She hated herself_.

_ _ _

She had been locked up in her room for most of the day in shame, and luckily the maids didn’t bother her. She wasn’t sure if it was because they didn’t notice she was gone all night, or simply didn’t want to comment on it. If it was the latter, then her brother would surely hear of it. She groaned into her pillowcase.

_ _ _

It was the next day that Hilda was handed a periwinkle envelope decorated with little animal stickers while at breakfast. She ignored her brother’s questioning look and refused to hide her glee as she nearly flew back to her room.

Tearing open the envelope impatiently and destroying some of the animal stickers in the process, Hilda whispered a small apology to them before pulling out the parchment inside.

_Dear Hilda,_

_I’m a bit worried for you. You say that you aren’t getting along with your brother…I know that things are always worse than you let on. Are you ok? If I misread the situation, just let me know. I’m just worried. You know you can trust me with anything._

_I would like to invite you to come visit me at my home in a few months, if you’re able to make it. Would that be all right with you? I miss you terribly so._

_You mentioned you’re clueless about what you want to do. What is something you’re passionate about? What makes you happy? It’s all right if you can’t find the answer immediately. Perhaps I can help you or perhaps you just need to think about it more._

_I'm always here for you,_

_Marianne_

Hilda felt weird; she couldn’t really place her finger on the emotions. She was… _relieved_—and somehow _ashamed_ all at once, feeling the heat of guilt rise to her face. She had so pathetically gone to seek comfort from some stranger when she had Marianne by her side all along. She felt foolish.

_What would she tell her? _

_Would she lie about her brother? _

_Would she be honest and risk Marianne doing something rash to come to her aid?_

It was more difficult to form a letter in return than expected. 

She responded later, in the evening, when a familiar purple hue took the sky, as it once did that eventful night before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for leaving it on a cliff-hanger!
> 
> The next chapter will be more cheerful, I promise. It will be in Marianne's perspective and highlight how much better her life is going compared to Hilda's (or perhaps not).
> 
> Also, forget what I said last time. I have a feeling this will be longer than five chapters.


	3. Freedom and Restriction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marianne’s life seems to be going well with newfound freedoms, but it may take a turn for the worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings this time, though this chapter showcases another dysfuntional familial relationship.

It was dawn of a new day and Marianne von Edmund was lounging in a plush chair in the parlor of the Edmund manor, scanning the cover of a romance novel her father had given her as a birthday present last year. It was only now that she was finally getting around to reading it. Despite her quiet and well-mannered appearance, she wasn’t particularly fond of books, and flipped this one to its front page to read its description, wary of the potential content. She knew that any gift from her adopted father was bound to be loaded with intent, be it mild mischievousness or harsher maliciousness. A romance novel could seem innocent on the surface, but Margrave Edmund could be trying to, one again, convince his daughter to marry. She was having none of it.

The description read of a powerful woman, Helena, and her conquest to be faithful to the Goddess by looking for a man—_one she knew would make her family proud_—to marry.

Marianne felt queasy, bile threatening to rise up her esophagus. Her father was now trying to use the angle of her religious fervor to get her to do what he wanted. She had spent the last ten years fighting to do things on her own; she was not going to give up now. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to get married—she wanted to do it for the right reasons: love and trust rather than some political arrangement.

Wanting to think about the subject no longer, Marianne lazily wiped her eyes and returned to her room, tossing the book on her bed. She moved over to her large antique mirror to start preparing her hair for the day. She had been braiding every day for years and putting it into a bun. While the length of her bangs shortened as she got more confident and the neatness of the bun improved after starting to use hair pins—courtesy of her friend Hilda--, the style of her hair had stayed nearly the same. It looked pretty and had become second nature to her. Why change?

She stripped herself of her nightgown and stared at herself in the mirror for only a moment, reminded of her resolve to not give her body away to anyone, rather, any _man_, unless she wanted to. As soon as she willfully sung her little pledge, she dressed herself in a simple blue dress, matching the color of her hair. She was going to the animal infirmary today, and a fancy gown would be unnecessary as well as impractical.

A soft knock hit her door. “Lady Marianne, I have a letter for you. It’s from your friend, Hilda Goneril.”

She smiled and opened her door. “Thank you, Jane, but _please_,” she leaned into the young brunette maid’s bubble. “Please don’t announce who the letter is from out here in the hallway.”

The poor girl’s eyes widened at her mistake. “Of, course, my lady. My apologies. I forget that your father could hear.”

“Exactly,” Marianne nodded.

“I won’t make the mistake again. I must be off to prepared breakfast. Will you be attending, or do you have to go out again?”

“I’ll be going out, I’m afraid. Thank you for being so understanding.”

“Yes, of course,” the maid bowed, turning on her heels and heading down the hall. Marianne watched her from the door until she girl turned a corner, moving out of sight.

Closing the door behind her, she sat on her bed and gingerly opened the familiar envelope, careful to not tear it. She pulled out the letter, bracing herself for her friend’s reply.

_Marianne,_

_You’re so sweet, but you’re worrying too much. I’m just the same old Hilda you love and know._

_My brother is just being his usual self—it’s no cause for worry._

_I don’t want our letters to get muddied by sad stuff, all right?_

_Anyway, I really would like to come visit you. Let’s go shopping and have tea. I want to see what kind of stuff Edmund territory has to offer, it being coastal and all. _

_How does next month sound? If that’s too much of a hassle, we can do it sometime this year._

_Your girl, _

_Hilda_

Marianne smiled for a brief moment, excited about the potential excursion together, but then frowned. There were two things she almost immediately noticed were off.

One, Hilda was being brief and trying to change the subject. There _had_ to be something going on with her brother, because she knew the pink-haired girl well. She would have written a long, detailed telling of what her brother did or said and how it made her feel. It would probably be the most melodramatic letter ever, but somehow that would let her know that Hilda would be all right. She _wouldn’t_ just brush it off.

Two, Hilda completely ignored Marianne’s question about her ambitions and passions. It could be that she simply didn’t want to talk about it or think about it for now, but avoiding the subject completely was worrisome, Marianne knew, because she had once done the same when she had spent hours daily praying to the Goddess at the monastery chapel, wishing that she would _take her away_ from all the guilt she felt._._

Marianne’s deduction skills were not unlike her father’s, despite there being no blood relation. However, she very well could have been entirely off-base with this assertion and pushing too far would be risky. Hilda had once been the one to push _her_ too far and she had avoided her for a few weeks, running away to the stables any time she tried to talk. It took time and a heartfelt apology for her to realize that her friend was genuinely concerned for her.

She needed a day or two to weigh her options, so she opened her wardrobe and reached down in the bottom for a small chest she kept under lock and key. Retrieving the key from under her mattress, she unlocked it and papers would have surely come flying out if she didn’t know to brace her hand against them while lifting the lid. The box was stuffed beyond capacity with every letter Marianne had ever received, dating all the way back to her first when she was seven and her friend had written one for her. Hilda’s letter was placed on top, and Marianne nearly had to smash all the papers down to manage to close it once again. She would have to organize it soon, she decided, or perhaps get another chest for storage. As long as it was locked, to keep her father’s prying eyes away, it would be satisfactory.

Margrave Edmund had recently allowed her to open up her animal infirmary, and while the new freedom was like being given a breath’s worth of oxygen, she knew that he was keeping a watchful eye on the place as he did for all her movements. He most likely had spies in his maids, butlers, and probably her personal staff at the infirmary as well. There was no way to be certain who she could trust, because any sign of disobedience would anger him further.

Marianne no longer feared her father, but she did fear what he could do to those close to her, which was why she had to keep those personal papers hidden away. He didn’t know about her closeness with her former comrades at the monastery, of her friendship with Hilda, and certainly not her friendship with Claude, for if he discovered such a thing, he would try to use it to prop himself up. She wasn’t going to be used. She certainly wasn’t going to let her friends be used.

Placing the chest back in her wardrobe and the key back where it belonged, Marianne exited her room, prepared to head outside and enjoy the warm air against her skin. She passed maids and butlers that regarded her with rushed bows before scurrying away. _Something was amiss._ She would ask father about it when she got home.

_ _ _

Marianne rode her favorite horse and best friend, Dorte, across the dewy grass of the hilly terrain on the way to the animal clinic. Edmund territory was unique because it was more autonomous than other regions, which translated to the margrave having more freedom to rule, and it was comprised of both wet mountains, lush with grass, and a line of sand bordering the sea. Marianne loved taking her old horse for walks through the sand, though they had to be shorter now due to her age.

The sun shone in the sky, rising in the east over the sea, and the way it felt against her skin was comforting. She had her sleeves rolled up and her lower arms exposed to the warmth with one hand loosely gripping the reigns. Dorte knew the route by now, for she was a very smart girl. Marianne didn't need to show her.

Upon arriving to her clinic, Marianne was greeted by her staff. She was still young and definitely inexperienced; the girl had received only a few months training before opening up her place, so she decided it would be best to hire an animal care specialist that she could shadow, allowing her to learn the ropes she hadn't yet.

They saw a variety of animals, mostly horses, pegasi, and wyverns, but they got the occasional injured rabbit or bird as well. The smaller animals were usually not given the highest priority, and while that saddened her because she loved birds dearly, she understood why the transport animals were more valued.

The Edmund territory had very few farms and ranches, and ultimately produced little food from them. The area flourished from the fish in the sea. Anything else had to be traded. Marianne's father had recently been showing an interest in building some ranches, but she didn't know the exact plans. She wasn't allowed to be privy to trade, even agricultural or domestic; that was something that men handled. It certainly frustrated her. She would like to learn the anatomy of chickens ahead of time if they were going to be potential patients.

The day was tiring, the work laborious, as Marianne dirtied up her dress from treating over a dozen animals. The clinic wasn't usually so busy and she was relieved when late afternoon hit. It would be time to head home and take a nice bath before having dinner.

_ _ _

The chandeliers in the Edmund manor dining hall sparkled as the day hit evening. Butlers and maids scurried busily to lay out a rather extravagant meal for Margrave Edmund’s unexpected guest, Count Gloucester, and his son, Lorenz. The margrave and the count had sealed a trade negotiation a month prior, and it was assumed by the Edmund constituents that all was well and settled. When a letter arrived, simply stating that the Gloucester men were on their way, a sort of unease set into Edmund. He paced the perimeter of his quarters, the Bergamot tea on his coffee table tepid.

The count’s reputation preceded him, and the margrave had to be cautious. He knew the count as charismatic but an ambitious man above all else, and he didn’t expect anything less, for he was much the same, though perhaps not quite as agreeable. He was still fairly new to the ways of Leicester politics, becoming one of the Five Great Lords of the Alliance only ten years prior. There were two things he could use to his advantage during this dinner: his ruthlessness, and his bargaining chip of a daughter.

Marianne von Edmund was the margrave’s adopted daughter, whom he adopted not long after his upsurge in politics. Her purpose was clear in his eyes: to marry a minor noble man and further the Edmund name. Since he was getting to be too old and did not wish to marry, his daughter could do it for him. No, she _had_ to do it for him. There wasn’t any leniency in the matter. If Count Gloucester was unsettled by the trade agreement and the margrave’s cunning nature was not enough to satisfy, Marianne would have to be used as bait.

_Perhaps she could seduce the young man and get the count on their side—no, that would ruin her reputation of purity, making her less desirable to marry._

_Besides, it would be easier to ask the ridiculously soft-hearted girl to kill a horse!_

The margrave chuckled outwardly at his little joke.

His daughter thought she had been given more freedom with the little infirmary practice he gave her. She was undeniably foolish, and lately had been getting too disobedient for his taste, daring to look confident. He was going to set her straight at the dinner, right in front of the count and his dashing son.

_ _ _

Marianne was rushed by a gargle of maids into a steaming bath, getting little time to ask what the occasion was.

“There is a guest coming this evening,” one answered quickly when she stalled before getting in.

“I see,” she sighed. She wasn’t a fan of entertaining any guest, and she knew her father would insist she do just that. Instead of asking the identity of said guest, Marianne decided to just enjoy the warmth of her bath and its cinnamon smells. She wanted to avoid the subject for as long as possible, remembering her enriching (though a bit stressful) day at the clinic.

Upon finishing up, there was nowhere left for the blue-haired woman to go but to the parlor and greet her father. Entering the room in a fresh gown, she smiled weakly at the ashen-haired old man.

“Father,” Marianne bowed slightly.

“Marianne,” he regarded her with a nod. “I trust a maid told you about Count Gloucester's impending visit.”

“Count Gloucester?” She cocked her head. _Lorenz's father? Why would he be back suddenly?_

“Goodness, those useless maids can't even fill my precious daughter in on what's going on? Ridiculous.” He crossed his arms.

“They told me someone was coming, but _I_ didn't press for details,” she defended. “It isn't their fault.”

“No matter,” he waved his hand in dismissal. “We will be having a feast with them—the count and his son, and I suspect they want to discuss our trade deal.”

_So, Lorenz is coming along._

“I see.”

His posture was dominating, if a bit frightening. Marianne had learned a long time ago to not let it affect her.

“I want you to join me and take part in the discu--"

“--you do?” She couldn't believe what she was hearing.

“Don't interrupt me again,” he scolded.

“Of course, Father. I'm sorry.” She averted her gaze in shame.

“Anyway, you will eventually be the next head of House Edmund, and when that time come, I want you to be properly trained in basic policies.”

“You never allowed me to be involved before. Why are you now?” she questioned.

He scoffed and placed a hand on his hip, chin pointed upwards.

“I want you to do something for me at dinner. Follow” She didn't like the sound of that. “Now, no more questions. Obey me and don't do anything to disrespect or shame me. Understand?”

She didn't, but she bit her tongue. “Yes, Father,” she bowed.

“Good.”

They waited several more minutes by the large mansion door. Marianne supposed that most nobles didn't immediately greet guests at the entrance, but the Margrave was always bursting with faux charisma in front of others.

It didn't take too long for a few strong knocks to be heard through the polished wood of the door.

Two men, tall in stature and purple hair, were invited in. One of them was pale and youthful and the epitome of elegance in his lavish clothes with a signature red rose pinned into the collar—Lorenz. The other, the count, gave off an air of pride, matured with salt and peppered hair and fine wrinkles around his features.

The Edmund man bowed to the Gloucester man respectfully, though a hint of agitation was evident to those who knew him well enough from his thin smile. “Count Gloucester, it is an honor to see you again,” he said through his bow. “It is nice to meet your son as well, ah…”

“Lorenz Hellman Gloucester,” the youth bowed.

“Right, of course,” he nudged his daughter discreetly.

“Count Gloucester,” Marianne bowed. She turned to look at his son. “Lorenz.”

His lips turned up pleasantly, and with a swat of his hair behind him, the count’s son responded in kind. “It’s nice to see you again, Lady Marianne.”

She winced, for she knew her father’s attention was surely caught. “You two know each other?” He asked suspiciously as he eyed her, affirming her fears.

“Yes,” she answered simply, hoping to move past the subject. Lorenz and the margrave were not interested in doing so.

“We were comrades-in-arms,” Lorenz placed his hand on his hip. “We also attended the Officer’s Academy together.”

“Ah, that’s right,” the margrave chuckled, yet showed no amusement in his features.

“We weren’t particularly close,” Marianne murmured. Her father raised a brow of disapproval in response.

“It is a good thing we have more to discuss involving our agreement then,” Count Gloucester nodded. “Perhaps the two of you can grow closer yet as the future Lord and Lady of two prominent houses.”

“Indeed,” Margrave Edmund placed a hand on the small of his daughter’s back. “That would be a wonderful thing.”

Marianne nodded along with Lorenz, who smirked knowingly. She hoped that her current discomfort was not plaguing her appearance too much.

“Would you care to join us in the dining hall? My staff have prepared a lovely meal. We should discuss the reason for your visit in a companionable setting,” Edmund gestured.

“It would be our pleasure,” the count bowed.

The margrave led the guests through the archway and Marianne trailed behind, worried for what was to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will, of course, continue Marianne's introduction with the dinner and a bit more. I did say this would be a slow burn. :)


End file.
